Prayer
by Cylor
Summary: The pig departs. This is the epilogue of an unfinished story I began over ten years ago, and is probably the last Ranma-related material I'll ever write.


**Prayer**

* * *

I could already hear them, even as I stood outside the gate.

I paused there, listening. I'd already decided that I wasn't going in. It would only make things harder, more unpleasant than they had to be. I'd caused them more than enough trouble over the past couple of years, and I was determined not to add any more to that tally. Even as fatally indecisive as I'd so often been, this was a decision I would finally stand by, and should have long before.

Still…I couldn't help but stay and listen to them for a while.

They were counting down to the stroke of twelve. Of course, it was _that_ night…I'd managed to forget, in my preoccupation. Thinking about it, though, I do have to admit that it seemed all the more appropriate.

There were a lot of other voices aside from the actual family members, and I recognized most of them. That did surprise me, a bit; I would've expected the grudges to be deeper, longer lasting. I mean, it had only been a week since that last, big fight. But maybe it was good that I'd been wrong, that not everyone was as pig-headed – pun intended – as me. The old man – the same one I'd once called "father", in a moment of foolish presumption – must have been in a forgiving mood. I imagine having seen the plans of so many years finally come to fruition had gone some distance toward stabilizing his normally dramatic moods. In the end, all of the petty feuding and jealous infighting might have even seemed like just so much water under the bridge…and who cared if it was hot _or_ cold?

In any case, they sounded cheerful enough. Or at least festive, if there's a difference. No overt sounds of violence…well, no more than you'd ordinarily expect. Probably less, in fact.

Maybe they'd all finally decided, against all odds, that they were just sick and tired of jealousy. That's what I like to think, anyway. I know I was…but it's not an easy thing to let go of. Especially when you've let it rule your life for as long as we all had.

If you're not careful, you can forget how to live without it. Assuming you ever knew how to, in the first place.

But it really did sound like they had things together, in there. Laughter, cheering, even singing…if there was any anger or resentment in the air, I honestly wasn't picking up on it. It was _weird_…but in a refreshing way.

I almost smiled, and for a second, I wanted to knock on the gate, wanted to go inside and join them. But I didn't. My strength of will didn't fail me, as it had so many times before.

I took the letter I'd written out of my shirt, but then I hesitated, looking at it. I knew I was standing at the point of no return. And it _had_ to be, or else nothing could truly change.

…But would it?

I guess it didn't matter, in the end. I only knew that I couldn't stay there any longer. I may not have known much else, but about that one thing, I was certain.

They'd sent me an invitation to the wedding. Part of me wanted to be angry about that, to read spite into it that probably hadn't really been there. But I didn't like that part of me, and I was sick of listening to him. It had certainly never done _me_ any good, and what was more, I'd finally begun to realize how much it _hurt_ everyone else around me. So…at any rate, I was trying to ignore it.

But if I was going to acknowledge that, I also had to recognize my other limitations. Which was why the letter began with an apology for my absence.

I'd spent days writing the thing, but it had felt like years. Maybe I really had been carrying those thoughts around with me for that long. I think so, in hindsight.

Though you might not expect it, I've actually done a great deal of letter-writing during my, ahem, "travels". It's not hard to find time for things like that when you're wandering the countryside for weeks or months at a stretch, without any clear idea of where you are, where you've been or where you're going. Which, of course, was my usual state.

Anyway…I'd tried to explain things as best I knew how, in the letter. I owed them that much, and probably more. But at that point in time, it was all I had in me. And there were a lot of apologies to give, too. I'd spent so much time blaming other people for my problems, but in the end, I had to face facts. Or at least try to take some responsibility, for a change.

I'd signed my name at the end, along with a letter _P_. After everything, it was as close to an ultimate confession as I'd been able to manage. Maybe I'm just a coward, after all.

Quietly, I slipped the letter under the gate. As I straightened up, I suddenly heard her laughing, inside…her unmistakable voice, light, musical and joyous.

I closed my eyes and savored the sound, one last time. Then I gripped the straps on my backpack and set off down the street.

On my way out of town, I stopped at the temple to pay my respects, to clear my thoughts, and to recite the same prayer I prayed every other year, with the same expectations.

Maybe I should have tried something different. But I'd never known what.

I climbed the snow-covered hill overlooking the city, the frozen grass crunching underfoot, and paused at the crest. I stayed there a while, breathing in the cold air, staring up at the dark, moonlit sky, and watching the lazy snowflakes drifting slowly down to me. I'm not sure exactly why, if I was looking for anything in particular, or waiting for something to happen…but it felt right.

Finally, I sighed, and snapped out my umbrella. Then I turned back for one, final look, before I left.

The city, as always, was a maze of light and sound. But I could almost see their house. I'd never really thought about it, but in retrospect…it's funny how, for all that time, it was the one place I never had any trouble finding.

Out of all the people gathered there that night, I know that most of them wouldn't have given a second thought to my leaving. At least half of them considered me an enemy or, at best, a nuisance. To the rest, I was a tool, or an occasional ally of convenience.

Maybe one or two might have thought of me as something like a friend. Maybe. I don't really know.

But, looking back…they were, collectively, the closest thing I ever really had to any kind of family.

I turned and walked away, and never went back.

I never saw any of them again.

* * *

**The End.**

Written by Corey W. Smith

Characters © Takahashi Rumiko


End file.
